Always
by too many stars to count
Summary: You're always family, no matter what. Please R


**A/N:** Just a short story written some time ago for batfic_ contest on livejournal. As usual 'd love to hear what you think.

**Always**

"Oh, thank God." The man said grabbing for his son as Dick swung to the ground the small child in his arms. "Thank you so much. You saved my son's life." He pulled the four-year-old boy to him burying his head in his son's hair.

"My pleasure, sir." Dick said starring longingly behind his mask at the scene unfolding before him. "Take care of yourselves." He instructed shooting out a grappling hook and swinging away into the night.

'_I wonder what it's like to be somebody's son._' Dick wondered idly as he landed on a roof. '_You _are _somebody's son._' He told himself angrily only seconds later. '_Whatever's going on with you and Bruce right now . . . it doesn't mean he's stopped caring about you. Stopped needing you.'_ He'd barely completed his thought when the floodlight on top of the police building flickered into life spilling the Batsymbol across the cloudy spring sky.

Dick had pulled his grappling hook out and was aiming it when he realized it wasn't his job to answer the Commissioner's call for help anymore. Squaring his shoulders determinedly he turned the opposite direction and started towards the East bank of Gotham River. There'd been rumors of drug dealers lurking on the bank and he wanted to check it out.

Hours later he had just stopped a mugging when Dick heard that telltale swish of fabric. Instantly he turned around expecting to see Bruce standing behind him. Of course no one was there.

But Dick had heard the cape's movement. He was _sure_ of it. Dick scanned the alleyway. Empty. One last weary look around and he had to turn back to the mugger who was pushing himself off of the ground.

It was almost sunrise when Dick heard the noise again. Bruce was _there_. So why couldn't Dick seem to find him?

'_You just want him to be here._' Dick rationalized to himself. '_You've been gone for almost a month. You miss him, Alfred, the Manor. Everything.'_ He shot a line to his apartment's alleyway window. '_You wanted to leave. And you know better than anyone than to expect _him _to apologize.'_ Dismissing it all as a lack of sleep Dick crawled into bed never seeing the bat-shaped shadow outside of his window.

Dick continued to hear things for almost a week. Every time he told himself the same thing. That Dick was tired, lonely, stressed, and most importantly that He certainly wasn't about to waste His time following Dick around. Gotham needed taking care of more than Dick after all.

It was nearly sunrise and he'd just planted himself in the path of a rapist when things went downhill. He'd gotten rid of the knife in an instant and kicked the man's accomplice unconscious. It was only when he turned back that Dick saw the gun. In a moment of horrible realization Dick realized that he was too late, far, far too late, to move out of the way.

It was just like in the movies when everything slowed down right before a character's death. Dick stared at the man who would be the last thing he ever saw. Looked down the barrel of the gun that was counting down the few remaining seconds of his life. And closed his eyes in a kind of acceptance as the man pulled the trigger.

For a second Dick thought the gunman had missed. His _shoulder_ felt like a rock had hit it, but the rest of him was – fine? Dick peeled his eyes open to see Bruce knocking the daylights out of his would-be killer. _'Bruce?_' Dick touched his head gingerly. This didn't _feel_ like a concussion.

Dick sat up and things started to make sense. Bruce must have pushed him out of the bullet's path. Dick glanced at Bruce's arm and saw blood swell under a torn sleeve. The bullet had only grazed him. He pushed himself up just as Bruce walked over to him. Looking over his shoulder Dick saw that the other man was lucky to be alive.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked. And even though Dick knew he couldn't take the cowl off on the street, he could _feel_ Bruce's eyes searching him for injuries.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." Both men shot grappling hooks onto a nearby rooftop to prevent them from being interrupted and avoid the police who would soon discover the man. "Have you been _following _me? All week?" Dick took Bruce's silence as a yes. "But . . . why? Not," He added quickly. "That I'm not grateful. I mean you just saved my ass. But weren't there more important things to be doing? Cases to solve?"

The cowl came down. "You're my son." Bruce said his voice rough with affection he rarely showed. "You'll always be my son. That doesn't stop just because we're angry. I didn't want you to get hurt."

Before Dick could really respond Bruce put his cowl back up. "The sun's coming up. May as well call it a night. Why –" He turned to look at Gotham's business sector, tall buildings battling for prominence. "Why don't you come back to the Manor. For breakfast at least. Alfred would love to see you. We've missed you these past few weeks." He said quietly.

"Uhm, sure." Dick answered surprised. For some reason, there _wasn't_ a reason he realized now, Dick had been positive he would be unwelcome at the manor these past few weeks. Coming back had never seemed to be an option.

They set out across rooftops keeping a steady pace with each other. "You've done a good job of protecting the city for the past few weeks." Bruce said as they leaped onto an old apartment building. Dick smiled. "But you need to make sure you disarm someone of _all _their weapons."

Dick rolled his eyes and did a handspring across the gap separating them from the next building. Trust Bruce to turn nearly getting shot to death in a back alley into a teachable moment.


End file.
